


Their Eternity Together

by Skullszeyes



Series: Tales of Barbs and Blood [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arguing, Bonding, Cute, Cute Ending, Drunkenness, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, No Romance, No Smut, Partnership, Silly, Sisters, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 14:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17941637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skullszeyes/pseuds/Skullszeyes
Summary: Feyre and Rhysand's relationship is strictly a partnership for the war and to rebuild Prythian, but her true relationship lies with her sisters.





	Their Eternity Together

**Author's Note:**

> I had an idea like this a long time ago, but I lost the paper I wrote it on. I'm what you would consider an Anti toward Sjm's shit writing and books, but I don't have a side blog talking about all her terrible ideas. The ideas that she does have are interesting, she just doesn't have the sense to know when something is good and to stop adding gross toxic masculinity, slut shaming, and way too much graphic sexual content. Most of the space she does have in the book could be for character development or world building, but nope(?).
> 
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Comments and/or Kudo's are appreciative. (If I do get flames of some kind, I'll delete them.)

Feyre gazed amongst the scattered lights of the city. Beautiful as diamonds in rubble. While even the night sky was beautiful, the wind brushed against her long wavy brown hair, kissing her naked shoulders, and caressing her periwinkle dress. It was unlike her own home before she was whisked away during a cold winter night.

What she didn’t like about the place was a particular man who shackled herself to him. Like some kind of pet, she wore his mark around her arm, and felt his presence close by. He was the dark manifestation of this place, yet formed himself into a beautiful man who smiled way too much for her liking. Since meeting him, he tested the waters and drew close, but she wasn’t blind to whatever depth he considered he held. She saw through him, even how muddled he thought she was.

Feyre didn’t move away, her hands stayed still on the cold railing as he appeared beside her, barely a noise or scent, but the mark told her where he was, and it annoyed her that it also told him where she was. The control was enough for him to bother her with, flinging half hearted jokes that were cruel in her ears, and his smile told her that he practically owned her with whatever great power he possesses. And his eyes, the last thing she truly considered when she first met the man during the festivities was that he was a born liar, twisted by others and groomed as who he is now. She was only surprised that others so close to him didn’t notice the ruse.

“Feyre, darling,” Rhysand spoke in his smooth tone, enough to coax anyone out from their shell, and to seduce others into a flustered mess, yet done nothing to ease her already irritated mood.

“What do you want?” she asked, in the same tone he used, more in a mockery than anything else. He hated when she challenged him, but to hide that intent, he seemed almost smitten with her around his court.

“You left early, I figured you would have returned home, but I find you lingering all on your own, looking upon Velaris. Enchanted, are you?” he asked her, his smirk too easy to imagine was already on his face.

“I’m waiting for my sister’s,” Feyre replied. Nesta didn’t even want to stay, not with Cassian’s pathetic dog eyes staring at her from across the room, and Elain, who didn’t even want to come when she knew Lucian would be sharing the same room as her. They decided to drink the wine and find any other beverage to consume, including the food they were too poor to have before their fates twined together with immortals. Maybe death would’ve been better than this, but Nesta enjoyed the alcohol, and Feyre wouldn’t deny it tasted best at home instead of the home of the High Lord of the Night Court.

“I’m surprised you haven’t dragged them off the second you arrived,” Rhysand said, his tone shifting, and she knew whatever mask he donned in front of the others was slipping. It made her smile that he could barely hold it around her, their mutual dislike was almost a secret between them, but their loved ones knew them too well.

Nesta and Elain picked up on it after meeting Rhysand’s court, and Mor and Amren knew right away when they met Feyre. It didn’t deter Feyre from being friends with Mor and Amren, both women understood her dislike toward Rhysand who had lounged himself on a chaise to listen to them insult him before he decided to leave the room.

Lucian shared her space when he was brought to the Night Court. He was Feyre’s correspondence to Tamlin during this crucial power balance between Feyre and Rhysand.

She wondered if he regretted making her High Lady of his court, another thing to smile at during the late nights, knowing the title would irk him for the rest of his existence, at least until death caught up to him. She knew the Fae were essentially immortal, but tearing out a heart was now easier for her than it was when she was mortal.

It was only a matter of time, and Rhysand knew that best.

“I thought about it,” Feyre looked down at her smooth fingers where her calluses once were when she practiced archery, “but you’re so gracious with your food and drinks, why deem us simpering idiots when we can act spoiled in these dire times. At least before death walks up to the door,” she turned and smiled at Rhysand who arched a curious brow at her, “and don’t worry, Rhys, I’ll make sure to call you when he comes.”

“You still have a vendetta against me?”

Feyre turned back to the glittering city. “Ask the part of me that was human who you disgraced at her vulnerable, traumatic end before she was swallowed whole,” she curled her fingers, her heart racing at the memory, “and this _thing_ was spat out to live the rest of eternity with you.”

“Many wish for a second life, one strong, beautiful, and powerful,” he responded, his tone low and almost sorrowful, but in her heightened ears, all she heard was pity.

Feyre laughed, a sarcastic sound. “This is war. People die when blood is shed, and only the survivors thrive. It may taste like victory when the fires die, but no one can live in the winds of ash and bones.” She turned, ready to head back to find her sisters to take them away from this place. “Pretend all you want, Rhys, that I care about the high standards you have lived all these years. I fought for my life, for my family, and all the Fae in each court as a mortal girl. Unfortunately that girl is dead, and whatever love you think you’ll coax out from me, you’re wrong to think that. And if I ever came to love you, know that, I’ll only be the trinket you wave at everyone, possessed and overly protected in your grand home. I’ll be worthless by the end of your use.”

“I have gone through perils as well as you, many more than your mortal life,” he said, his voice clipped, and she can feel through the mark that her words had set a fire in his veins. All these years, he was able to contain it, his pain and rage, and yet he let it out at times and he didn’t think twice about it. “Don’t think I don’t know, the mark reveals many things about us. We have lived each other’s pain, breathed it even, and yet you mock me.”

Feyre scoffed, glancing back over her shoulder. “I’ve seen your pain, felt your pain, and I do feel sorry for the things you’ve gone through Under the Mountain, and after. I, however, will remind you, Rhysand, that you don’t need to be the same as your abuser, you don’t need to share her tactics, or her words she used against you. I’m a different woman, try to see that before thinking the opposite.”

With that, Feyre left before Rhysand could utter anymore. She did not hate him because of what he went through, she disliked his methods in dealing with her as if she were inferior to the woman who gave him that same feeling. He wanted control, a woman to submit under his thumb, to lead her in ways like a dog to a bone. She was not a dog, she would not grovel at his feet for simple delights in his reverie, nor be seduced by the friends he surrounds himself with, and the power that oozes from his creation.

She will stay in tact with herself, she will inevitably help him because of the high title he had given her, another way to keep her at his side. She will not let his world fall to ruin, and she will save the one she lost when her mortal life was taken.

Because death and the high percent of what she had given to save others who deigned her world weak, she was given a new life, and she’ll try and live it without the regrets she once faced. She’ll do what she needs to now that she is powerful, strong, and capable, an enhancement of her mortality.

Maybe one day she’ll look at Rhysand and they’ll become friends, and that is the line she’ll draw. Love has nothing to do with them, this is a partnership to save a world burning down. There are some things one had to do even if one didn’t want too. And this was one of them.

Feyre wandered down the hall and found herself in the lounge where her sister’s, Nesta and Elain, were. Both of them with pink cheeks and bright smiles as they laid on the couch on either side, their smooth legs crossed each other’s. A wine, Whiskey, and Vodka bottle sat on the glass silver table with a tray of sweets. There was no one else in the room with them, which made Feyre figure they had left the dining hall when Feyre left.

“Having fun?” Feyre asked, sitting on the lone chair beside them.

“Ah, yes,” Elain said, her voice slightly higher, and she let out a stifled laugh, “you should’ve seen it, Fey, it was hilarious.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, yet she laughed with their sister. Feyre hadn’t seen her so at ease in some time since they were dragged into the cauldron, it truly traumatized them both, but here they were, more alive than ever. “He got too close, asked too many questions, and he had it coming.”

Feyre arched her brows, completely interested in what they were talking about. “Explain,” she said, leaning over for the Whiskey bottle and uncapping it.

“Well,” Elain said, pushing herself up, her pink dress had wrinkles along the fabric, “Cassian noticed our sister having too much to drink, and you know his stupid crush on her—”

“Crush?” Nesta screwed up her face, “is that what you call it?”

Elain rolled her eyes, “Fine, infatuation.”

“Same thing,” Feyre commented, taking a swig of the Whiskey bottle and almost coughing at the ugly taste, Nesta chuckled at her reaction.

“Let me finish,” Elain said, her fingers finding the neck of the vodka bottle, “he got too close, and trust me, I was there, I was—”

“Yes, Elain, you were right next to me, wanting to hear his provocative confessions.” Nesta shook her head, taking the bottle from Elain and screwing off the cap.

Elain glared. “Let me finish!”

Feyre smiled, “Okay, finish the story and we can head home.”

Nesta arched her brows before standing, almost knocking Elain off by the movement. “We’re going home. We don’t have to stay here anymore.”

“We actually didn’t have to stay here at all, but I figured we didn’t have to spend money on any food since it’s Rhysand’s house,” Feyre said, standing as well while Nesta passed the Vodka bottle back to Elain before grabbing the tray of sweets.

“Isn’t it yours too?” Elain said, her brows furrowed as she picked up the wine bottle, caring both in her arms.

“I love lavish things like paint brushes and my bow, but I also like my bed,” Feyre said as she led her sister’s from the room. “And I’d rather be with the two of you than with...him.”

“Relationships,” Nesta sighed, biting into a cream puff with jelly in the middle.

Elain walked between them, taking a long swig of the Vodka bottle before Nesta put the cap back on. Nesta also found a bowl from the empty dining hall and dumped some of the sweets in it. Feyre had also grabbed a bit of strawberries and grapes before the three of them started their way out of the estate.

“Finish the story, Elain, or I will,” Nesta said as they walked down the steps.

“Okay, Cassian spent a minute—”

“Less than a minute,” Nesta said.

Elain glared, “and our sister decided to drink the rest of her champagne—”

“Which wasn’t as great as you might think,” Nesta nudged Feyre. “Next time, inform Rhysand to—”

“AND,” Elain interrupted, “Cassian was still talking, mostly about Nesta’s boyfriends—”

Nesta glared, “I wouldn’t really call them boyfriends.”

“Friends, sorry, Nesta’s friends, she turned and spat out the champagne into Cassian’s face,” Elain bursted out into a string of laughter, making them stop in the middle of the staircase until she calmed down, “it was a fountain of champagne coming from Nesta’s mouth, you should’ve been there, Fey, it was so hilarious. He got so mad he left the room.”

“Do you think he got the message?” Feyre asked Nesta as they continued down the stairs.

Nesta shrugged, plucking a strawberry from Feyre’s bowl. “Who knows, men can be pathetic when they can’t take no as an answer.”

“You spat champagne in his face,” Feyre said. “Why wouldn’t he take the hint?”

“Because he might think it’s foreplay and later give the same type of champagne as a gift. I’ll have to smash it in one of his windows if it comes to that.” Nesta bit into the strawberry.

“Where did you go throughout that whole time?” Elain asked once they reached the bottom of the staircase and they walked toward the road. “I don’t want to think too much, but if that was your bathroom break…”

Feyre frowned. “Rhysand kept talking to me through the mark,” she showed them her arm, the black swirls, flowers and the eye were beautiful, but it felt more like a brand, or a leash, at least coming from Rhysand it did. “I needed a moment away from him, but even distance won’t shut him up.”

“What did he want?” Nesta asked, plucking a grape this time from Feyre’s bowl and plopping it into her mouth.

“The same old conversation,” Feyre told her, tired of the night and hoping for the comfort of her warm blankets, “mostly about the coming war, our imaginary romantic relationship, and the pain we both went through, even how different our experiences were. We both don’t understand how we feel about it. I want him to consider speaking to people who know his pain, but all he does is hide it, pretend it doesn’t exist when he wears it as much as he wears his clothes. Sometimes I think he should reconsider his dislike of Tamlin, but I might have to think about that after the war.” She gave a small smile to Nesta and Elain, “if any of us survive it of course.”

Elain wrapped her arms around her sister’s, both hands holding the necks of the vodka and wine bottles, “We’ll survive it if we stay together, drunk on this new life with all the alcohol, fruits, and sweets we can hoard in the house.”

“And of the powers we are granted,” Nesta said, solemn with the memory of what she went through inside the cauldron.

“Nope,” Elain proclaimed, a drunk smile on her lips, “but the bond we have as sisters, more so now than we were as selfish humans.”

“I wasn’t selfish,” Feyre said.

Nesta laughed, “Please, I’m sure at one point you wanted to leave us to freeze in the winter. Find us dead, and pretend to cry at our dead corpses, then hunt all you want, get rich, and live out your days in some other place, never to think of us again.”

Feyre arched a brow at the familiar dark image. “Well, I mean, at one point I thought it might have been a good idea.”

Elain laughed, and they joined in as the three of them headed home to the estate Feyre had requested when she became High Lady. A home they never had, a home that was warm and with their company that will last for eternity. At least once they win the war, that dream will be theirs, and maybe then, Feyre will find herself free from another man who wished to possess her with love only meant for the newfound bond with her sisters.


End file.
